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Blackfox and Rockwolf
'The Base of Drakesreach Bluff ' ---- :A predominantly flat region of elevated land atop a small cliff that roughly spans one thirteenth of the Drakesreach Sierra as a whole, Drakesreach Bluff is at once both an impressive sight and an equally notable landmark within the Wildlands as a whole. It is upon this bluff that the freehold of Crown's Refuge was first established in 625 ATA, and it is upon this very same bluff that that same city has flourished. :Though mostly surrounded by dry auburn grasslands to the north and east,and the rushing waters of the Jadesnake to the west, the southern reaches of the base of Drakesreach Bluff hold some notable features, first and foremost of which is the smooth ramp that ascends towards the top of the bluff itself, leading to the only point around the base of the entire landmark by which one can enter the city above. :That city is, of course, the freehold of Crown's Refuge. Viewable as nothing more than a palisade wall of stone that measures roughly ten foot in height atop the natural aegis of wall that is the cliff face, the suggestion of a multitude of buildings and homes are never the less there all the same. A magnificent and elegant tower of pale white stone and marble ascends above the height of the wall, however, presiding over the surrounding landscape as it spears towards the heavens. :A set of vast wooden gates rest atop the natural ramp that leads up to the surface of the bluff, evidently the only ingress to and from the city above, while the thick reaches of the Verdigris Forest stretch endlessly towards the south, the edge of the forest directly adjacent to the southern edge of the bluff itself. ---- Bow in hand, one arrow resting against the string, Blackfox slips quietly between the trees, her eyes locked on a low group of shrubbery. A rustle, or so she thought she had heard, something more than the wind but less than a fox or a rabbit, perhaps a squirrel or quail, but she was never choosy in her prey. If it could be eaten, she would try to bring it down. ... thus, the sign of a kahar red deer might be of some interest, churned ground indicating recent passage.. west.. the wet ground holding prints easy. ... more telling, and perhaps more warning.. would be the sign of another animal's passage... a rockwolf, trailing the deer. There are only two prints, both blurred by mud.. but they're massive. Nearly a handspan. Blackfox frowns a bit as she spots the marks in the soft loam, crouching down to get a closer look, the frown turning to a smile as she recognizes the scuff marks of hooves. But then she sees the other set of prints, and the mercurial little hunters expression returns to an unhappy one. Wolf hunting was not usually worth the effort, far too much danger for too little return, but... She lifts her head and looks back to the north, glimpsing the light and stone of Crown's Refuge. Too close to town to let it go, not to mention she might still be able to bring down the deer. With a silent prayer, she cautiously follows where the trail leads. The trail isn't a long one - not as fresh as those tracks are. Less than an hour of picking carefully through the wood, quiet as a falling leaf, brings the Ranger into view of a sheltered bend in a creek, a band of exposed salt-rock in the bank - a perfect watering hole, and a frequented one, given the steady increase in fading spoor. There, at the bend, head down in the water, is a beautiful specimen - a kahar red doe, a young one, drinking nervously from the flowing water, short tail high and nervous. There is, as of the moment, no sign of the wolf - but the occasional tracks indicates that the thing was on the trail. Patience. Move slowly. Do not startle the prey but beware the hunter. That the deer still lived meant one of two things. Either it had outrun the wolf, or the wolf and the Fox were both eyeing the same prey from the forest. Keeping low, she watches for a bit, trying to spot any sign of the wolf or any other creature that might have the same idea as she had. Patience is rewarded. To a point. The deer is happily ignorant of the approaching hunter, the still air making any vector easier than it should be despite the animal's awareness. At twenty feet, the animal raises its head, scenting lightly at unmoving air. Blackfox stops and raises her bow, sighting down the length of the shaft, centering the shot at the base of the neck where there would be no bone to deflect the shot yet where the arteries would easily give up the precious life's blood when sliced. The fletching brushes her ear as she lets out her held breath and looses the arrow in one smooth movement. The shot is gorgeous - oh, not one for the storybooks, but certainly a worthy shot. The arrow's shaft strikes cleanly, the deer giving a startled bleat of pain and stumbling to the side... ... and causing the massive, shadowed wolf to miss, a full leap that has it skidding and snarling and rolling to the side, amidst a cloud of dust and dead leaves. Fully four feet at the head, the rockwolf works to collect itself... blinking flaming, glowing eyes, flickering firelight in their depths orienting on the stricken deer. Blackfox swears softly, reaching to her hip for another arrow before the thought actually enters her mind. She takes her eyes off of the wolf for a moment to ensure a smooth nock, lifting her gaze and the bow together to try to draw a bead on the frustrated canine. The deer staggers to the side and collapses - barely a dozen steps before the arrow does its work - it moves no more, blood trickling from the wound. The wolf's snarl is suspicious, and it circles the fallen deer, nose testing the air in its turn - its claws glitter metallic, in the dim light, its teeth shining. With an odd intelligence for an animal, the wolf seems to be backing away, though unwilling to run, flaming eyes scanning the trees. Blackfox holds her shot, waiting to give the wolf the chance to leave. All she truly wants is the deer, though she could probably trade the wolf pelt for some cloth, and helping to safeguard the town might be better than letting it flee. For the moment, she holds herself still, watching the beast warily. It growls out, chewing what are perfectly intelligible words around a wolf's teeth, though exactly as one would expect a wolf of that size to speak.. ".. I ken yer out there, Hunter." It's warning - though it hasn't at all a fix on /where/ - this much is obvious. ".. show yerself." The wolf's hackles are up keeping itself low and wary. Fox's jaw slowly drops as she eases up on the string, stumbling back a step, "By all that is..." she says softly, shaking her head and blinking her eyes. "Impossible..." A dead deer, a curl in a stream in the near edge of the Verdegris - a dead deer shot with a hunter's bow, no less. On the other side of the animal? A massive wolf, twice the size of a rockwolf easily, four feet or more at the shoulder, with glowing, flaming eyes and claws of steel, low and wary. It's the sound of the hunter's voice that draws the wolf's attention, a low, gruff snarl as it focuses on the space between the trees, ears a better sense than nose in the wet and the still air. "hrrrrr. Many things 's impossible - " It circles wide, obviously wary of another arrow. ".. and you stole m' dinner." "I did not know a demon required food," Blackfox replies, backing up another step, drawing the string a bit tighter again. "... demon?" It barks a rough laugh - burning eyes peering hard, as though they could part the concealing shadows in their own right. ".. nae a demon, woman." It retreats then, as the bow is drawn, doing its own best to fade back into the trees - canny, it is. ".. I got nae any interest 'n hurtin' ye. Will 'f I have to." "And so does the same go for myself," Fox nods, keeping to the shadows, trying to give a confusing target should the wolf charge, glancing at the nearest tree should flight prove the wiser move. "I have no quarrel with you other than I would have with any creature of the shadow," the corner of her mouth quirks into a smile. "I just want what is mine." ... the wolf raises its head, sniffing... and backs farther into the woods, snarl sudden, ears in an entirely separate direction. "... two..." Its hackles are up again, its body low. Walking through the wildlands and out of Crown's Refuge, a small blonde woman is walking ... well, like a woman, somewhat heavily due to her armour and careless due to an apparent lack of purpose. A pause is given, however, and she cocks an ear into the air - "Odd." A few trees to the left and some number of yards bring her very close to the smell of water and her familiar sounds; closer, therefore, to the rockwolf and the hunter. Blackfox glances over towards the sound of the approaching stranger, her focus still on the creature standing between her and the downed deer. "If you leave now, we will let you live," she says quietly, grinning now in the darkness, "Otherwise, I may see what a wolf pelt will fetch me in town." It snarls, low.. "m' harder t' kill 'n that, hunter." It retreats still, however, still looking for the source of the voice, burning eyes casting side to side.. past the deer now, one paw at a time, grudgingly backing farther into the trees -- finally, itself in shadow, those eyes still showing where it stands, even as the rest blends into the darkened wood. This is where Milora makes her fine, grand entrance - well, not exactly. She emerges from the trees behind the brown-skinned Wildlander, a flurry of coarse yellow curls and muddied black armour; a glance is spared to the wolf, and then to the bow in the hunter's hand. Her own bow is drawn with elegance from her back, and an arrow knocked in a matter of moments. "Trouble, my friend?" she inquires of the woman, her voice curious and low as her eyes settle on the wolf. Blackfox only spares a quick glance towards Milora, refusing to let her main focus stray from what she sees as the threat. Blackfox only spares a quick glance towards Milora, refusing to let her main focus stray from what she sees as the threat. "Provided I have not gone mad," she replies, "This hellspawn refuses to yield my kill...and it has said so in no uncertain terms." Said hellspawn - little more than burning eyes aross the clearing, backs farther still, staying low and wary. "It has /said/ so, has it?" Milora replies, moving several yards farther from the woman with something like a smile tugging at her lips. "But, Mistress, rockwolves do not speak." Her gaze doesn't leave the beast except to briefly settle on Blackfox. "Nevertheless, it guards your kill, does it? And you will shoot it through the heart before you give up your deer? -- I do not blame you, it looks like a fine deer." "Then perhaps I have, indeed, gone mad," Fox says, slowly advancing now towards the deer. "And perhaps it truly is no more than a wolf twice the size of any wolf I have ever seen and the cold has addled my thoughts. In which case, there is no reason we should not slay it and ensure the town is guarded against such a creature." At those words - said creature... flees. In the scratching of leaves and the low rustle of underbrush, it retreats, at a flat run - jinking through the trees until, if not pursued, it is lost to easy sight, the canny run of a beast used to arrows. "There," Milora says, nodding towards the scene of the beast's escape. "And what now?" She looks back at Blackfox, apparently expectant. "Now?" Blackfox continues to watch in the direction that the wolf fled, not quite so certain she believed it was truly gone. "Now I would ask for your assistance, friend, in keeping watch while I take what meat I can from this deer and take the town's share back to the inn." Nodding, Milora lowers her bow and inclines her head. "And if I left you here, my friend, all alone to collect the venison, and this wolf returned to find its meal again, where do you suppose you would be?" Her tone is delicate, superficially unthreatening, and her face is clear. "You are free to do so," Blackfox replies, eyeing the woman as if to try and judge her true intent. "And if you did? I would hope, then, that I carve fast enough and can run even faster." "Suppose, then, that your hands were free, or full of that bow of yours." The blonde woman tilts her head slightly, gauging the reaction of the other woman. "Suppose you had the opportunity to kill it. You would, of course, because a trophy like that would be worth two months' worth of meals. Would not you?" Blackfox shakes her head, "I am not a trophy hunter," she replies with a frown. "I feed myself and do not need handouts, though I do trade for what I cannot catch or make on my own. I was not hunting the wolf but the deer, and when the opportunity arose, I did not kill the beast. I would be lying if I did not say I considered it, for the pelt might be traded for canvas I need for shelter and because a creature that large this close to the town is a threat to those who have no skills with bow or blade. I hunt for need, either to fill my belly or to keep warm in the winter or to keep myself safe from harm." "This is all the better for you," the girl says evenly, nodding her head. "I am afraid, Mistress, that if I discover that you have struck a rockwolf - any rockwolf - with one of your arrows, I will have to loose an arrow through /you/." Lifting her eyebrows calmly, she nods. "You will feed and clothe yourself by other means. Do you ken?" She smiles. The rustling of leaves and the cracking of branches comes from the south, a small thing that carries easily through the quiet of the wet, ancient wood. Blackfox frowns as she meets the girls gaze, "No one tells me where and what to hunt in these woods, and should you dare to point a bow at me you had best pray your aim is true. Should I perceive a rock wolf or any beast to be a threat to me or to others, I will not hesitate to pierce its heart." She steps away from the woman at the sound of the rustling, bringing her bow up halfway as she now looks suspiciously at Milora, "Or perhaps you are in league with this demonwolf and seek to protect it..." Now Milora opens her mouth in badly feigned shock, a gesture that does nothing to hide the grin on her face. "Perhaps, is it? ... Oh, well, you've clearly caught me out. I must obviously be hellspawn myself, as you have so politely put it ... or perhaps rockwolves are only my favourite animal. Perhaps - perhaps I knew one as a pet, or a friend once. Or perhaps I find that they make fine conversationalists." Shrugging, Milora keeps her bow lowered for now. "You strike me as a sensible woman, Mistress. What if you and I made an honourable wager to this effect? I am a lady with soft hands, after all, and I am not too delicate for a bet." The rustling moves on - perhaps a creature in the underbrush, perhaps something else entirely. Regardless, no rockwolves leap out to gnaw on anyone. "I am not a betting woman," Blackfox says, taking another step back, "Let alone would I make a wager in the shadows, as it were. I should not have been so foolish at to believe your appearance in the forest in the dead of night where I stand facing a creature of darkness any mere happenstance." Chuckling, the Imperial shakes her curly head. "You misunderstand me, Mistress," she teases, stepping around the huntress and at once distancing herself further from her. "You think that I am a Shadow-tainted creature, something with enough magic in her to sense the danger of her companions. I am not. I am an ordinary woman very similar to yourself - I pray, not as often as I should, but often enough to be pious. As for my appearance here ... hmm. I can only attribute it to circumstance, sheer fortune -- or misfortune. I like to walk in the woods ... I find that my head is never more clear than when I put my paw to the earth, as it has been said. Bargain with me. What have you to loose besides an arrow and a pelt?" "My soul perhaps?" Blackfox counters, "How many who walk in darkness stand up and admit they do? While hunting quail, I come across the trail of a deer and a wolf, but see no further sign of the wolf. As I down the deer, a wolf larger than any I have ever laid eyes on misses its prey and chastizes me for depriving it of its kill...and then along comes a woman who threatens my life should I dare harm a wolf? Nay, this is not coincidence by any stretch of the imagination." "What do you suppose I would ask of you?" Raising her bow, Milora looks curiously through the dark at the hunter. "...You are afraid of me." She smiles, half to herself. "I have never been feared before, it is a novelty that I quite dislike but by which I am amused nonetheless. Imagine, Milora Lomasa, intimidating." A pause. "Nonsense. You have nothing to fear from me unless that demonwolf dies by your hand. One arrow each to a target of your choice, my friend, and it will be the beast's protections against whatever you please." "Again I say nay," Blackfox gives a slight shake of her head, "I will take my kill and I will be on my way and you can keep your bargains to yourself. That you choose the life of a wolf over the life of another shows your true heart and I trust it not, nor your words that drip of honey." "But you shall not kill that wolf," Milora says evenly, tightening her grip on her bow. "I will be assured of that, and if you will not pick a target /for/ me, than I will pick my own -- and it shall be the shoulder of your best arm. Mm?" She raises her eyebrows. "Your livelihood. Your skills wasted. Gangrenous, festering flesh beside your neck, perhaps a loss of limb if you cannot afford a physician with your lack of meat and fur to sell. You /are/ afraid of me, aren't you?" Blackfox snarls, "I fear the darkness in you and your unholy alliance with the demon that stalks these woods, but I will not be threatened in my own home, not by your or by anyone. I will kill what I wish in these woods as have my kin before me and their kin before them. I take orders from no one, least of all someone lost to shadow. Shooting would only serve to prove that you are the evil creature I see you to be and puts a lie to all your claims of innocence." Nodding slightly, Milora pulls her bow further upwards and balances her eyes, silently gauging the direction and speed of the flimsy brisk breeze. "But I shall shoot. It is your choice, mistress. I am waiting for you to tell me my target." "You wish a target, then cut out the darkness in your own soul," Blackfox responds, "But I will not yield to your demands or agree to your bargains." "...Very well." Breathing a sigh, Milora keeps her eyes open and looses her arrow. Her aim is true, soaring for the edge of the right shoulder - far enough in to severely inhibit movement of that arm, but not so to create a wound that will haunt the hunter. Blackfox doesn't bother to return fire, instead opting to rush the other woman, drawing her blade as she leaps. Milora would dodge swiftly, pulling herself safely out of the line of fire. Her next movement is to slide her bow back into her quiver and remove herself at a good speed, barely inhibited by her armour. "You won't be doing much hunting for a while," she warns over her shoulder, grasping a low-hanging tree branch with one upstretched hand and using a swing to propell her forward further. "Shadow cursed coward!" Blackfox calls after the woman, the arrow still jutting out from her arm as she scoops to retrieve her bow, more than willing to shoot at the fleeing target. Flee she does - implike, back to the Refuge, swinging around trees and precipitating from stones. Unless more arrows follow her, Milora is gone. ---- ''Return to Season 5 (2007) Category:Logs